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Monday, November 2, 2009

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;That only men incredulous of despair,Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight airBeat upward to God's throne in loud accessOf shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,In souls as countries, lieth silent-bareUnder the blanching, vertical eye-glareOf the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, expressGrief for thy Dead in silence like to death--Most like a monumental statue setIn everlasting watch and moveless woeTill itself crumble to the dust beneath.Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:If it could weep, it could arise and go.